La Cosa Nostra
by 1991Kira
Summary: Every man has but one destiny. When a single moment of defiance sends Harry Potter down an unexpected road, he must learn that the best of us are not those who blindly accept the yokel of fate, but those who fight to forge their own.
1. Reactions

**Warning: Not for Snape-fans.  
**

* * *

"There you are, Potter!"

Harry resisted the urge to groan loudly. Of all the people he had to run into this late in the day. . .

"Yes, Professor?" he said in tone of forced politeness.

"Don't give me that, you spoiled brat!" Snape snarled. "Why did you not report for your detention last night?"

 _Because I've got better things to do._ Aloud Harry said, "I'm sorry, sir. But I was preparing for the Tournament. . ."

"And you believe that means the rules no longer apply to you, do you?" Snape sneered.

"Actually, the Tournament rules say that Champions can skip classes or other school activities. . ."

"Don't you dare quote rules at me, you insolent whelp!" Snape bellowed in a voice that caught the attention of all the students in the Entrance Hall. "Just like your father! A little bit of attention and your ego is suddenly larger than this castle! If you think you can use the Tournament to avoid your punishments, then I suggest you think again!"

Harry seethed silently at the injustice of it all. With the way Snape was raving and ranting, one would think he'd blown up his lab or something!

It wasn't fair! He didn't even deserve that detention Snape had assigned him the previous day. It was Malfoy who had stealthily lobbed a piece of rat spleen into his potion in the last class, causing it to melt his cauldron and half the bloody table. But Snape, as usual, had been deaf to his complaints and promptly assigned him a detention on the spot for his supposed "incompetence". Harry didn't really know what hurt most: the sheer injustice of it all or the fact that none of his Gryffindor classmates, including Ron and Hermione, had uttered a single word in his defence.

"You are an utterly incompetent and useless child, who should never have been allowed to set foot inside this school!" Snape spat, his obsidian eyes flashing menacingly. "You think you are above the rules, that you can do whatever you please because you are the Boy-Who-Lived!? Think again, Potter! In my eyes you will always be a useless dunderhead, you. . ."

Harry clenched his fists in rage. He'd just about had enough of this! Ever since his name had come out of that thrice-damned Goblet, his whole life had gone to hell!

He'd become a social pariah in the castle. Not a single one of the student body (including his so-called 'friends') believed him when he protested his innocence. While most of them didn't go out of their way to cause problems for him (unlike the Weasley Twins, who seemed to delight in hitting him with tripping jinxes whenever they could), nobody was willing to interact with him in any capacity outside of classes either.

It was only thanks to his daily training regimen that he was able to maintain his sanity. After wallowing in misery and self-pity for the best part of three days, an encouraging letter from his godfather (along with a very useful tome of advanced combat spells) had snapped him out of his funk. He had spent the whole of last week sequestered in an abandoned classroom, practicing combat spells on desks and chairs. In addition to helping him blow off some steam, they also greatly improved his chances of surviving in this Merlin-damned Tournament.

For that was what Harry Potter truly was: a survivor. At his core he'd always been someone who never gave up, who overcame his obstacles due to sheer stubbornness. . . and he was going to use this to survive this bloody Tournament. No matter who or what stood in his way!

He'd survived a possessed teacher, a thousand year old basislisk, the shade of a Dark Lord, a hundred Dementors. . . and by Merlin he would survive this. No matter how many people had died before, no matter how many were going to die in the future. . . it didn't matter. Harry was not going to join the ranks of the dead any time soon.

He would survive this bloody Tournament at all costs, and as soon as this year was over he was going to flip Hogwarts and Britain the bird and run away with his godfather. Then they could. . .

". . . . I don't care what delusions you entertain in your over-inflated head, boy, to me you will always be. . ."

Harry gritted his teeth in anger. _'Boy'_. How he hated that word! Every time someone called him that he was reminded of Vernon's beatings, his aunt's taunts about how he was worthless and someone who would never amount to everything.

To hear Snape say the exact same things to him, using those very words. . .

Harry saw red.

". . . you _will_ report to my office tonight for your detention, boy! For every night for the next _month_! And fifty points from Gryffindor for your impertinence!"

Snape whipped around and stalked away, his robes billowing behind him. He'd barely taken a dozen steps before Harry's voice rang out.

"No."

Snape stopped dead in his tracks; and then slowly, very slowly turned around.

"What did you say?" his whisper was like death.

"I said 'no'," Harry said in a perfectly level voice. "I will _not_ attend any undeserved detentions with you. No this night, nor any other night."

Snape felt a vein throb in his head. "One hundred points from Gry. . ."

"Make it five hundred," Harry interrupted. "Or a thousand. I don't care."

Snape's jaw nearly dropped in shock. "What. . .?"

"I don't give a damn about House points anymore," Harry shrugged, oblivious to the glares from the Gryffindors in the crowd. "Take as many points as you want. Hell, you can empty the entire hourglass. . . I don't care. But I won't attend any more detentions."

"You arrogant little worm! You _will_ attend those detentions or else. . . !"

"I won't. You can do whatever you feel like: shout, scream, take it up with McGonagall or Dumbeldore. . . I don't care. But I'm not listening to anything you have to say anymore. Oh, and I won't be attending your classes either."

And to the utter shock of the watching crowd, Harry Potter nonchalantly walked right past Severus Snape into the Great Hall.

"Potter! You get back here this instant! Don't you walk away from me, you. . !"

But Harry was way past caring by this point. He didn't care how much that greasy bastard screamed and shouted, he'd never. . .

 _"Stupefy!"_

Reflexes born of intense Quidditch training kicked in as Harry dived to the ground just in time to avoid a bright red Stunner.

 _Why that wanker. . ._

He rolled to his feet, wand coming out in one fluid motion and pointed it at the greasy-haired teacher. _"Expelliarmus!"_

Snape side-stepped the curse. _"Diffindo!"_

Harry's eyes widened in shock and he barely had time to jump aside as Snape's cutting curse flew at him, clipping him slightly on the left shoulder. He watched the blood blossom on his robes in surprise, unable to believe that spell had been aimed at his face.

 _That. . . that utter bastard!_

He narrowed his eyes at Snape's smirking face.

 _Fine! If that's how he wants to play it. . ._

With a roar of rage, Harry fired off a volley of curses at his opponent. Snape threw up a shield, surprised that the teenager was actually familiar with duelling tactics. He attempted a passive legilimency scan on the boy, wondering who had taught him such moves.

A memory of a book floated up. A gift. . . from that mutt no less! Dumbledore would have to be informed. . .

Unfortunately for Snape, this brief lapse in concentration cost him. As Harry's Stunner punched through his shield, Snape dodged to the side. . .

. . . right into the path of a Bone-breaking hex.

He screamed in pain as his right leg snapped like a twig. Frothing at the mouth like a mad dog, he thrust his wand out at the Boy-Who-Lived. " _Sectumsempra!_ "

Harry hit the ground as the Dark cutting curse sailed over his head and struck a stone pillar, shearing off a good portion of it and showering them all with chunks of rock. Rolling forward with his momentum, Harry jumped to his feet and pointed his wand straight at Snape's wand hand. " _Reducto_!"

It was then that the inexplicable happened. Snape, who'd flinched to avoid the fragments of rock peppering his face, lost his balance. His damaged right foot tangled with the hem of his robes and caused him to fall sideways, straight into the path Harry's reductor curse. The Potions master barely had the time to widen his eyes in surprise before his greasy head exploded in a shower of gore. Blood and brains splattered everything and everyone in a ten foot radius, as Severus Snape's body fell to the floor.

For a few moments, the only thing that could be heard was the sound of Harry's heavy breathing as he stood before Snape's headless corpse, drenched in blood from head to toe.

Then someone screamed, and all hell broke loose.

* * *

". . . .how on earth . . ."

". . . in the middle of the Entrance Hall, no less. . ."

". . . . never would have dreamed. . ."

". . . .told you to keep him on a leash, Dumbledore. . ."

". . . .attacking the Boy-Who-Lived. . . ."

It was a stunned Harry Potter who found himself sitting in the Headmaster's office some time later, surrounded by Hogwarts professors and Ministry officials. He listened half-heartedly as the assembled witches and wizards passionately argued about the horrifying events that had unfolded a scant half an hour ago. Only one fact registered in his mind, repeating itself over and over again. . .

He had killed.

He, Harry, had taken a human life.

He was a _murderer_.

Harry could have laughed if he could. Fate, he mused, seemed to have it in for him since the day he was born. As if losing his parents and living with the Dursleys for the better part of his life hadn't been bad enough, now he had to go and become a killer at the age of fourteen.

 _Well, I guess Vernon wasn't completely wrong about me. . ._ he thought bitterly. _I guess I really wasn't going to amount to anything, after all. . ._

But somewhere, in a dark corner of his heart, another emotion began to well up inside him. Apart from the horror and the melancholy he was feeling over his actions, Harry began to feel an almost overpowering rage.

Rage against Dumbledore, who had yet to say a single word in his defense. Rage against the incompetent Minister Fudge, who merely wrung his hands and looked helplessly about him. Rage against McGonagall, who despite being his Head of House and de-facto guardian while in Hogwarts, had not even looked him in the eye even once since his name had come out of the goblet.

He felt the bile rise in his throat. Black rage, rising from the depths of his soul, against his life. At the blatant unfairness of it all. . .

What had he, Harry, ever done to deserve all this!? The constant pain, the humiliation, the innumerable bad hands life had dealt him at every stage. . .

He was sick of it all. Sick of being fate's whipping boy, sick of being the golden Gryffindor, sick of. . .

"Mr Potter."

The booming voice interrupted his increasingly dark thoughts. Harry blinked and focused his eyes upon the witch standing before him.

She'd introduced herself as Madam Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry couldn't help but wonder if she was probably the only person in the room who was even remotely on his side, since she was the only person in the room who had first enquired about his well-being upon her arrival.

"We've spoken to some of the witnesses of this incident, and we have a basic understanding of everything that's happened," she said in a brisk, no-nonsense tone. "I'd like to hear your version of the events, if you please."

Haltingly, Harry narrated the events of last hour, right down to the last detail he could remember. The assembled adults listened to him quietly, the only sound apart from his voice being that of the enchanted quill that zoomed across a piece of parchment of its own accord, recording his statement.

Bones listened impassively as his tale came to an end, and stretched out her hand. "Wand, please," she commanded.

Harry obliged, and the two aurors accompanying her began to examine the wand closely, noting down their observations. After a few minutes, they handed a piece of parchment to their boss, who glanced at it and nodded.

"Very well," she said in her booming voice. "Now Mr Potter, I'm going to have to ask you let us view your memory of the event."

"Um. . . what?" A confused Harry asked.

"Amelia," Dumbledore protested. "I really don't believe there's a need. . ."

"Albus, the testimony of the present eyewitnesses is much too unreliable for us to say for certain. Unless you'd rather I dose the Boy-Who-Lived with veritaserum, I really don't see any other way for us to determine the truth of the matter."

"Of course," Fudge said quickly, sensing a PR disaster waiting to happen. "We can't go around using something like that on Harry Potter. Why, the very idea is preposterous! Do as you see fit, Amelia!"

"Thank you, Minister." Bones withdrew a small cauldron from her robes, which she enlarged by tapping three times on its rim. "This, Mr Potter, is a solicitor's pensieve," she said. "It can be used to view a person's memories of an event, no matter how long ago they have occurred."

She dimly noted that the Boy-Who-Lived widened his eyes in surprise at this nugget of information before turning around and shooting a dirty look at the Headmaster. Something to think about later.

"Do I have your permission to use this, Mr Potter?"

"Er. . .yeah. . ." Harry muttered. "I mean. . . sure. What do I need to do?"

Bones drew her wand and gently placed it against his temple. "I need you to focus upon the events of the last hour, Mr Potter. Try to recall as many details as you can."

Harry screwed up his eyes and pulled up the memory of his confrontation with Snape. He watched with slight surprise as Bones slowly drew her wand away, a silvery thread connecting his temple to its tip. Then with a slight jolt, the gossamer thread snapped, and Bones placed the silvery thread into the basin.

With the exception of the aurors, all the adults in the room disappeared into the basin one after another. Harry waited twenty nerve-wracking minutes before they re-emerged.

Bones and Dumbledore looked grim, while Fudge looked about ready to faint. McGonagall had tears in her eyes and seemed to be trying her hardest to not meet his gaze.

"Well," the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement began. "I know I'm not supposed to be making any statements yet, but this looks like the most clear-cut case of self-defense I've ever seen."

"Come now, Amelia," Dumbledore chided her. "Mr Potter was hardly in any danger back there."

Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing. Nor, apparently, could Bones.

"Professor Snape was the one who drew his wand and fired the first curse, Albus! At Mr Potter's back, no less!"

"A mere stunning spell," the Headmaster shrugged. "It would have done him no lasting harm."

That was definitely the wrong thing to say. Everyone in the room, even the mentally slow Minister, looked at him in astonishment, and in Harry's case, with sheer hatred.

Bones arched an eyebrow. "It's been many years since I've left Hogwarts, so refresh my memory, Albus: under what circumstances is it considered acceptable for professors to curse their students behind their back?"

Dumbledore deliberately ignored the jab. "If Mr Potter had simply obeyed Professor Snape in the first place, perhaps the situation would not have gotten so out of hand."

The casualness of the statement goaded Harry out of his silence. "I did nothing wrong!" he said loudly, startling everyone in the room. "I didn't _deserve_ that detention. . ."

"Then you should have taken it up with your Head of House, Harry. In private," the Headmaster replied with a touch of heat. "To defy a professor so brazenly, and before your peers at that. . . what were you hoping to accomplish?"

Harry could hardly believe this was happening. Albus Dumbledore, the one man he'd respected above everyone, who'd almost been like a grandfather to him these last three years, was blaming _him_ for Snape's death!? He felt the bile rise in his throat once again.

The miserable, old, toothless, lemon-drop sucking wanker! After everything Harry had done for him and the school, all the times he'd risked his neck for his bloody principles. . . and the senile old codger was practically rooting for him to be sent to Azkaban. Over Snape, no less! In that moment, Harry would have gladly accepted even the Dementor's Kiss as punishment for a chance to reach out and wring that self-righteous bastard's scrawny neck!

Fortunately for Harry, one of Bones' aurors chose that moment to enter the office. The young, pink-haired witch strode forward and passed a piece of parchment to her boss, who read through it quickly.

"I see," she said neutrally. "Yes. . . good work, Auror Tonks." She then turned to the others. "Upon examination of Professor Snape's wand, we've found that the last spell it cast was a Category 2 Dark Curse."

McGonagall gasped. "You mean the horrid curse that cut into the pillar at the very end?"

"The very same," Bones replied grimly. "Upon searching his quarters, we discovered a notebook that suggests it was a curse invented by him specifically to use against his enemies. Had Mr Potter been struck by that curse head-on, I very much doubt if he'd survived."

She narrowed her eyes at the headmaster. "Your professor purposefully cast a Dark Curse to seriously maim or kill one of his students. Do you still contend that he meant 'no lasting harm', Albus?"

Dumbledore had the grace to look ashamed.

"Minister," Bones formally addressed Fudge. "If you wish to pursue these charges, we can go ahead and take Mr Potter under custody. But in my experience with the law, it's an open-and-shut case. Mr Potter was attacked by a Category 2 Dark Curse, and Ministry regulations clearly state that a person finding their person under such an attack is free to retaliate however they see fit."

"That law was instituted in a time of war," Dumbledore chided her. "It has no relevance now."

"It was never formally repealed," Bones shrugged. "So the last time I checked, it's still in effect. Under the law, Mr Potter is not guilty of murder."

For some strange reason, Dumbledore still wasn't ready to back down. "Nevertheless, that law applied to adult witches and wizards. As Mr Potter is still a minor, he must be subjected to some modicum of punishment. . ."

"Ah, but is he, really? A minor, I mean?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Bones smiled viciously. "Mr Potter was chosen by a magical artefact participate in a magical tournament that was restricted to adult witches and wizards. And by agreeing to let him participate, you, Dumbledore, and the other judges, have practically deemed him of age."

Everyone goggled at her in surprise. "Does that mean Mr Potter is legally an adult now?" McGonagall asked.

"Perhaps. Perhaps not. Magical law is never so cut-and-dry." She turned back to the stunned looking Headmaster. "Are you prepared to argue this point in the Wizengamot, Albus?"

The mention of the Wizengamot seemed to remind Dumbledore of the political realities behind tonight's scene. "Yes, well. . ." he cleared his throat. "I was merely suggesting. . . with all said and done, Mr Potter has taken a life. He must be motivated to show some remorse. . ."

"He did what he did to survive, Albus," Bones said quietly. "No one can be made to feel guilty for that."

She took a step towards Harry. "Mr Potter," she said, not unkindly. "In my official position, I'm required to tell you that you will be closely monitored for the duration of this year, perhaps longer. In the meantime, I must ask you to not speak about the details of this case with anyone, not even your friends, until the DMLE releases an official report of our investigation."

"Ok. . ." Harry said slowly, still struggling to process everything. "Does this mean I'm . . free?" he asked timidly.

"You are," Bones agreed. She returned his wand to him. "I would suggest that you spent the night in the Hospital Wing. I also believe that in the light of recent events, it is best you avoid sleeping in the Gryffindor dorms for a while. Perhaps something can be arranged. . . ?" she gave McGonagall a questioning glance.

The Deputy Headmistress nodded. "I'll order the elves the clear out the room in the East Tower."

"Good." Bones cast another look at the forlorn looking young man, seeing the same look in his eyes she'd seen in so many rookie aurors. A child. . . barely her Susan's age. And such a mark to carry on one's soul. Her gaze softened slightly. "For what it's worth, Mr Potter. . . I'm sorry you had to go through all that."

"So am I, Madam Bones," Harry said quietly. "So am I."

* * *

If Harry believed that the school merely hated him before, he had no idea how to describe their feelings towards him now.

By noon the next day, word had spread to every student in the school that Harry Potter had gone Dark. Watching him move around the castle freely after brutally murdering a teacher in full view of everyone struck barbs of fear into everyone's hearts.

The Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, who'd been mocking him a scant few days ago, avoided him like the plague. The Gryffindors, for all their hatred of Snape, glared at him from afar whenever he sat down at the end of the table, as though unable to believe that a Dark Wizard like him would dare to sit with them at meal times. The Slytherins' reactions, however, were the most surprising.

Harry, who'd been expecting a violent reprisal from the House of Snakes, was surprised to learn that most of the Slytherins didn't even care. Severus Snape, it seemed, hadn't been particularly popular even in his own house. The more astute members of Slytherin house had always blamed Snape for the way the rest of the school treated them and shed no tears over his demise, and the rest were determined to stay out of Harrys's way as far as possible, since it was clear that the Boy-Who-Lived was no longer an easy target. Even Draco Malfoy took special care to avoid attention, no doubt acting on his father's advice to keep his head down.

For someone who'd been dealing with the entire school's ire for the last couple of weeks, this new behavior came as a relief for Harry. Sure, it stung a little when he watched younger students flee the library in his presence, but at least no one was firing jinxes at him from behind corners.

Everyone seemed to be eager to leave him alone, which suited Harry just fine.

Okay. . . maybe not _everyone_.

Harry shot a slightly annoyed look at the person sitting opposite to him. The young witch smiled over the rim of her upside-down magazine, continuing to hum tonelessly.

Her name was Luna Lovegood, a third-year from Ravenclaw, and since the last week she had taken to following him around like lost puppy. She was, even by Harry's standards, a singularly weird person: she had large protuberant eyes, a perpetually dreamy expression, wore a necklace of butterbeer corks, and constantly prattled on about all kinds of strange magical creatures.

When asked for why she'd chosen to tag along with him when the rest of school worked so hard to avoid him, her mysterious reply was that the "nargles" were less mischievous when she was around him.

While Harry had no idea who or what these "nargles" were supposed to be, he was by no means an idiot. If anything, he had a knack for spotting things that other people missed. The way Luna turned up with mismatched shoes and her clothes in a state of disarray, her fixed smile whenever he asked her if everything was alright reminded him too much of his time with the Dursleys.

It was plain to anyone with a working brain that Luna was being severely bullied, but as usual the Hogwarts professors chose to turn a blind eye to this blatant injustice that was going on right under their noses.

Harry found that he didn't give a damn. He could protect Luna on his own just fine. If nothing else, at least someone was benefiting from the highly negative reputation he'd developed of late.

Besides, having someone like Luna is his life had its own interesting repercussions.

* * *

"He's late."

Luna looked up dreamily from her magazine. "Probably just delayed in Herbology. You know how Professor Sprout ends her classes, Harry."

The Boy-Who-Lived scowled, resuming his pacing in the empty classroom.

"What does he want to talk about, anyway?"

"Why don't you ask him now that he's here?"

Harry turned and glared at the doorway as the newest visitor hesitantly stepped over the threshold. "Zabini."

"Potter," the boy nodded back.

When Luna had told Harry that Blaise Zabini wanted to have a private chat with him, his first impulse had been to suspect a trap. In all the years he'd attended classes with the Slytherins, he'd never exchanged two words with the boy. There was also he wouldn't put it past the Slytherins to attempt to ambush him in an abandoned classroom. But Luna had insisted, which was very unlike her, and his unwavering faith in her had convinced him to hear Zabini out.

"Well, get on with it."

Harry's suspicion must have been more evident than he'd thought. "I didn't come here to fight you, Potter," Zabini said with a wry smile. "If my word isn't enough, you can hold onto my wand for the duration of this meeting."

"No need," Harry said quickly. "Just. . . get on with it."

The other boy took a deep breath. "I came here to offer my formal thanks to you, on behalf of my entire family."

"For what?"

"For killing Severus Snape," he answered simply.

"Wait. . . you're _thanking_ me because I killed Snape!?" Harry asked incredulously.

Zabini gave a bitter laugh. "Despite what the rest of the school thinks, Potter, Snape treated his own house only marginally better than the others. In some ways, you could say he was even worse."

"Worse? To his own Snakes?" Harry snorted. "You really expect me to believe that?"

"Don't be so quick to judge the whole of Slytherin house, Potter," Zabini's eyes flashed. "If you knew how things work in the House of Snakes, you wouldn't be so eager to pick a fight with us all the time."

"I'm not the one who goes around picking fights. . ." Harry began hotly.

"That's not what I meant," Zabini put up his hands. "It's just. . . well. . ."

He sighed and scratched his head. "One of the first things every Slytherin learns as a firstie is that what happens in the House of Snakes stays in the House of Snakes."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"One of the most strongly-held prejudices within the British Wizarding community is that Slytherin is a house of Dark Wizards," Zabini explained. "A reputation like that doesn't exactly make seven years of schooling very easy, especially when the Sorting Hat announces every yeah without fail that your house is known for its cunning."

"Some folks would say that that reputation is well earned," Harry sneered.

"And those same folks people would say that all parselmouths are evil, and that people who murder teachers in broad daylight shouldn't get to walk around freely," Zabini shot back. "Prejudices cut both ways, Potter."

Harry winced at the hard truth behind that statement. For all the time he'd spent lamenting the fickle nature of his schoolmates, he'd never once considered that he too was not above prejudices of his own.

After all, wasn't it because Hagrid had told him that Slytherin was a house of Dark Wizards that he'd begged the Hat not to put him there? This, despite the fact, that he'd never truly interacted with any Slytherin before, apart from that ponce Malfoy,

His mind went back to all the times he'd seen the entire school celebrate whenever Slytherin lost at quidditch or the House Cup, and suddenly he couldn't help but feel sick to his stomach.

"I'm sorry. That was uncalled for," Harry said quietly. "But that still doesn't explain why you asked me here."

"I'm getting to that. It's just. . . well. . . in the absence of support from the rest of the school, we Slytherins have no one else to rely on but each other. And when your Head of House is a piece of trash like Snape was. . ."

"What did he do to you?" Harry wondered, unable to recall any instance where he'd seen Zabini be at the receiving end of Snape's ire.

"Not me. . . not personally. But my sister. . ."

Zabini took a deep breath, his fists clenched. Harry noticed that they were shaking slightly. "She was a seventh-year here before we joined. Working on her Potions Mastery. She was always brilliant at Potions. Just like my mother."

"Trouble was, she needed an experienced Potions Master to sign off on her thesis. And Snape was Hogwarts' resident Potions Master. So she went to him for help."

"That wanker. . . he messed up everything, Potter! He misplaced her notes. Wouldn't give her access to the Restricted section. He cost her months of work . . . and then when she was falling short on time, he. . . took advantage of her. . ."

Harry felt like the bottom had dropped out of the pit of his stomach. "No way. . ." he croaked. Even Snape couldn't be that horrible.

"Oh, yes way. . . trust me, this isn't the first time he's done it either." Zabini gave a short, mirthless laugh. "Greasy bastard had a thing for redheads too, from what I've heard. . ."

"Why. . . why didn't anyone. . ." Harry was struggling to form words in his revulsion.

". . . notice?" Zabini asked. "They probably did. They just didn't care! She wasn't anyone important, just another Slytherin. . . a rich one perhaps, but who gave damn?" Zabini snorted. "Snape may have been a loser, but with people like Dumbledore and his Death Eater buddy Malfoy backing him up, he had some powerful political capital."

"Wait. . . Snape was a Death Eater!?" Harry repeated in shock.

"You don't know. . ." Zabini looked at him strangely. "I always figured since you were so close to Dumbledore and the Weasleys. . . yeah, Snape was a Death Eater. But he had Dumbledore vouch for him at the end of the war, so he never went to Azkaban. But I digress. . ."

"My sister. . . you have to understand, she's not the bravest girl out there. I think Snape threatened her, or she thought she'd put it all behind her once she got her Mastery. Either way, she played along. And then, when the greasy bastard failed her anyway at the end. . . she. . . she couldn't take it. . ."

Zabini swallowed. "They never did figure out what kind of cocktail she used to try to kill herself. Whatever it was, it was extremely potent. . . the Healers barely managed to save her. But she was never quite the same, after that. My family sent her away. . . back to Italy. . . mother and I visit her occasionally. She doesn't even recognize me."

Despite his iron self-control, a few tears leaked from the corners of Zabini's eyes. Harry, his heart heavy with sadness, reached out and patted the other boy's shoulders.

Zabini took a few minutes to compose himself. "It took all of my mother's self-control to not march into this school and cut Snape into pieces. Only the thought of me being all alone convinced her to hold back." He sighed. "You know, Potter, I always dreamed of the day I'd graduate Hogwarts and celebrate by blowing that greasy git's head clean off his shoulders. But you saved me the trouble."

He reached out and gripped Harry's hand tight. "I want you to know, Potter. . . I owe you a huge debt. One I couldn't hope to repay. You avenged my sister, you saved me from doing something that would've landed me in Azkaban someday. . . I. . . anything you ever need is yours to ask. Including my life!" The boy's eyes shone with determination. "This, I swear to you."

Harry had no idea how to respond to that. But a part of him realized that it would be rude, positively insulting, to say that it was no big deal. So he merely looked the other boy in the eye and nodded.

"You take care of yourself. . . Blaise."

For the first time since they'd met, a smile broke out on the other boy's face. "I will, Harry. Thank you." Then, to Harry's surprise, the boy bent down and kissed the top of his hand.

" _Grazie, Don Harry. . ."_ And Blaise Zabini walked away with a grateful smile.

Harry watched him go with a confused expression on his face. "What the heck was that all about?"

"It's a sign of respect," Luna answered, causing him to jump slightly. She had put down her magazine and was looking at him directly, her usual vacant expression replaced with one of intense concentration.

"Respect?"

"The Zabinis are an old family from Italy. Sicily, to be more precise. They live and conduct their affairs by their own code. _'Don'_ to them is a title given to someone who they respect above many others."

Harry snorted. "And you're saying the Zabinis _respect_ me?"

"They aren't the only ones," she replied in a matter-of-fact way. Luna walked up to him, continuing to fix him with her piercing gaze, so very different from her usual look. The dreamy lilt was gone from her voice as well.

For some reason, this was rather unnerving to Harry. It felt as though he was speaking to the real Luna Lovegood for the first time.

"Why did you bring me here, Luna?"

"Because I wanted to see for myself," she said simply.

"See what?"

"What choice you're going to make."

She placed a hand against his cheek, her silver orbs boring into his bright green ones.

"Choice?" he whispered.

"Yes, a choice," she replied. "You can choose to walk the path Fate has chosen for you, or you can reject it and make your own destiny."

"Now, Harry Potter, tell me: what do you choose?"

* * *

 **AN: So, it's been a while since I've written a HP fanfic. But this idea popped into my head, and just wouldn't let go. Fairly sure something of this sort has been done before, but I'm hoping to add my own flavor to it.**

 **Some of my older readers will see a few elements from my other major HP fic, 'Renegade', incorporated in here. But I plan on making this somewhat realistic, so no Super!Harry or Machiavellian/Political Harry. Our hero here will definitely act more intelligent than his canon counterpart, but only upto an extent. He'll still face challenges but he's not going to be running rings around Dumbles or Voldy anytime soon.**

 **Apologies to all Snape-fans if you've made it this far, but I've always hated the greasy git. Might seem like I've stretched things a little, but had to be done for the sake of the story.**

 **As usual, reviews will be greatly appreciated.**


	2. Choices

Blaise Zabini soon became a constant and welcome companion to Harry. The boy's quiet, soft-spoken nature greatly appealed to the Boy-Who-Lived, who had never been much of a talker himself.

Of course, with Hogwarts being what it was, this new friendship did not go unnoticed. Blaise's sudden appearance at the Gryffindor table to eat with Harry and Luna was the source of much conversation. The House of Lions were particularly mutinous over this new development, as Harry's association with a Snake seemed to confirm their opinion that their former hero had indeed gone Dark. But their fear of Harry Potter overrode their anger, leaving them with the only option of stewing in self-righteous silence.

Harry found, to his own surprise, that he did not care two whits about the school's reaction. Blaise was a far more interesting companion that his former friends had ever been. The boy was intelligent, and unlike Gryffindor's resident bookworm, his intelligence was not limited to mindless regurgitation of textbooks.

Blaise was a sharp observer of people, and possessed an almost uncanny ability to read situations very quickly. One of the first things he'd done was to gather as much knowledge as he could on the Triwizard Tournament to help Harry better prepare for the challenges that were sure to come. And this was not entirely limited to the three tasks.

"Harry dear! How lovely to finally meet you!"

Harry stiffened as he felt an arm wrap itself around his shoulders, long talon-like nails digging into his flesh. The sugary voice grated on his ears as he turned to look into the hideously-painted face of a heavy-jawed witch.

"Rita Skeeter, Reporter for the Daily Prophet," she introduced herself primly.

Harry knew who she was. Blaise and Luna had both warned him about her almost certain appearance at the Wand Weighing ceremony. The three of them had spent an entire night deciding on the best way for Harry to deal with her unavoidable attention before settling on a tactic that Harry had only ever used on the Quidditch pitch.

Escape. Evade. Distract.

"Madame Maxime!" Harry said suddenly, his voice loud enough to carry across the room. "Madame Maxime, could I have a word?"

The Beauxbatons Headmistress turned to regard him with no small amount of surprise. " _Oui_ , Monsieur Potter?"

 _Escape. . ._

Nimbly, Harry stepped out of the surprised reporter's grasp and walked across the room.

 _Evade. . ._

He moved to plant himself between Fleur Delacour and her headmistress, thereby ensuring that he wouldn't be taken by surprise again. Already he could see Skeeter making a beeline towards him, no doubt eager to eavesdrop on his conversation.

Perfect.

Harry took a deep breath, mentally going over the lines he'd rehearsed so many times. "Madame, I apologize if I'm wasting your time," he began courteously. "But there's something important I'd like to discuss with you."

" _Non_ ," Maxime replied, pleasantly surprised by the young man's manners. It seemed that the rumors about him weren't that accurate, as rumors were always wont to be. "What is it zat you wish to discuss?"

 _Distract._

"I wanted to enquire if it was possible for me to transfer to Beauxbatons next year."

All talk in the room ceased at that statement. Ludo Bagman and Karkaroff stared in open astonishment, Skeeter looked like Christmas had come early, and Dumbledore looked like someone had climbed his table and proceeded to take a massive dump in his lemon drops.

Even Maxime reeled slightly. "But. . . why?"

"My years at Hogwarts haven't been as great as I'd hoped," Harry said with mock-regret. "My education has suffered and my life has been in jeopardy more than once." He paused, trying to stifle his laughter at the sight of Skeeter frantically noting his every word. "I've heard great things about Beauxbatons and the quality of magical education provided there. I was hoping if you'd let me transfer to your institution next year." He ended by shooting her his most sincere smile.

"Of course," Maxime smiled. It would be an incredible coup for her to be able to snatch the Boy-Who-Lived away from Hogwarts and the British Ministry. Not to mention the satisfaction of sticking it to that pompous old, lemon-drop sucking, self-righteous _imbécile._ "Why don't you come wiz me, Monsieur Potter?"

Thus did Harry Potter exit the room, accompanied by the half-giant Headmistress and a very curious half-Veela, leaving chaos in his wake.

* * *

And chaos there was.

As Luna and Blaise had predicted, Rita Skeeter's front-page article on the Triwizard Tournament was less about the Tournament itself and more about Harry. The news that the Boy-Who-Lived was seriously considering moving to a foreign school due to Hogwarts' falling standards and threats to his safety sent ripples across the British Wizarding community. The fact that Skeeter took Snape's duel with Harry as a glaring example of these accusations meant more sleepless nights for Albus Dumbledore, who spent the next couple of weeks rushing between the Ministry and meetings with the school's Board of Governors.

All of this was a great source of amusement for Harry Potter. He was even more amused when he saw the large amount of fan mail waiting for him every morning containing a mixture of pleas to not abandon his home, and a few choice letters congratulating him for getting rid of Hogwarts's resident greasy git (Snape, it seemed, had been more unpopular than most had suspected). Even the small amount of hate mail denouncing him as a traitor and a murderer could not spoil his good mood for long.

Still, Harry couldn't help but wonder how easily everything was beginning to go in his favor. A simple trick with the press had caused Dumbledore and so many other Ministry higher-ups so much trouble. An empty threat that he'd never even intended to carry out. He wondered whether his years at Hogwarts would have been better had he chosen to speak out and been more willing to create a fuss earlier.

Later that night, Harry Potter received another lesson in the education he had just begun. Alone in the privacy of his new quarters, courtesy of Bones and McGonagall, the three friends discussed the upcoming Tournament and the repercussions of Harry's actions.

It helped that, between the two of them, Blaise and Luna had an incredibly accurate understanding about the way the Wizarding world really worked.

"You have to understand, the Triwizard Tournament is a lot more than just a simple competition between schools," Blaise explained. "It's a major political move for the Fudge administration, which is part of the reason everyone is being so awful about it."

"How so?" Harry queried.

"The Ministry of Magic happens to be one of the largest employers, if not _the_ largest employer, in Wizarding Britain. Every pureblood and half-blood student in the school has someone from their family working in a department at the Ministry, or knows someone who does. The Department of International Magical Cooperation and the Department of Magical Games and Sports are among the largest divisions within the Ministry, and it doesn't help that they're not the only ones involved with the Tournament."

"But what other departments could be involved in something like this?" Harry scratched his head.

"The DMLE, for one," Luna piped up. "They're in charge of providing security during the Tournament events and protecting the foreign delegation while they're here at Hogwarts. The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes has also been ordered to remain on standby, just in case something goes wrong."

Blaise nodded. "And my mother says that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures has also been roped in to handle some 'imports': creatures they've brought in from overseas for the Tournament tasks."

"Ooh. . . I know about those. Father thinks they might be a shipment of Crown-faced Hornswaggles to give to the champions as gifts," Luna suggested happily.

"Riiiiiiight," Blaise said, looking askance at the upside-down magazine in her hand. Then he cleared his throat.

"My point, Harry, is that everyone in this castle is invested in the Tournament in one way or the other. Everyone was looking forward to see this thing become a massive success. Everyone was hoping to see the whole Tournament go off without a hitch."

Comprehension finally dawned on the Boy-Who-Lived. "But then my name came out the Goblet," he murmured.

"Exactly," Blaise nodded. "It might have seemed fairly muted here, but an extra name coming out of Goblet of Fire, and _your_ name at that, caused a huge blowout at the Ministry. Mother says that many Department heads were practically scurrying around the Ministry that night in their bed clothes."

"In the end, it was only because some of Fudge's cronies convinced him that having you in the Tournament would give them a nice publicity boost that stopped him from trying to pin the blame on somebody."

"A publicity boost?" Harry growled. "Is that what I'm supposed to be? 'Good publicity'?"

"Well, what did you expect?" the other boy shrugged. "You're the _Boy-Who-Lived_ , after all."

Harry flinched. He's always hated that particular moniker. It always felt like an insult to his mother, who had given her life so that he could live. "I never asked for this," he began hotly. "I've never wanted this bloody scar on my forehead! I. . ."

"You honestly think anyone gives a damn?" Blaise challenged. "Forgive me for being blunt, Don Harry, but this is something you need to understand about our world before you do anything else," he paused to look the green-eyed boy squarely in the eye, " _Nobody cares_."

"Nobody cares about what you've lost! Nobody cares that the price of ridding our world of You-Know-Who came at the cost of your family and your childhood! Nobody cares about the boy Harry Potter, because to them you're not a person, you're a bloody symbol!" He paused to take a deep breath. "You _are_ the Boy-Who-Lived!"

"And you can't run away from it. No matter how hard you try, you'll never be able to escape that title. You'll never be "just Harry" to them, no matter how humble you try to be or no matter how much you try to dumb yourself down to their level."

"So you're saying I should just suck it up?" Harry asked bitterly.

"No, I'm saying you should stop averting your eyes from reality! No matter how unpleasant it may seem, this is the way things are, and the only way you can move forward is to accept them. Accept that you are a symbol to the people, accept your fame, your power. . . these are all a part of who you are. Whether you wish to admit it or not?"

"Like hell!" Harry snarled, gripping the arms of his chair in anger.

Blaise got to his feet, and even though he was not that much taller than Harry, the simple gesture seemed to make him seem more impressive. "You think any other bloke our age could have gotten away with killing a teacher in front of a hundred witnesses, even in self-defense?" he challenged. "You think anybody else would be allowed to simply walk away after illegally entering into a Ministry-sanctioned Tournament? Face it, Don Harry - the only reason you're not lying in a Ministry holding cell right now is because you're the bloody Boy-Who-Lived! Anyone else, and the Ministry would have expelled and arrested them first, magical contracts be damned!"

The sheer logic behind those words gave pause to Harry's anger. "Then what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"You need to understand your place in our world," Blaise said softly. "My mother always says: only through understanding can there be acceptance, and only through acceptance can there be recovery. If you really want to recover from all this, you have to understand and accept that you will _always_ be the Boy-Who-Lived to these people."

Harry said nothing, gazing blankly at Luna as she continued to hum tonelessly under her breath. His mind went back to the conversation they'd had in that empty classroom. "What if I don't want to be just the Boy-Who-Lived, Blaise?" he said quietly. "What if I want to be more?"

Blaise saw the determined glint in those emerald eyes and smiled. "Then _become_ more, Don Harry. Who's going to stop you?"

* * *

A week later, Harry was almost coming to regret those words.

He sighed in annoyance and glared at the person sitting across from him. His visitor returned the glare with equal intensity.

"Let me get this straight: you need me to do. . . _what_ exactly?"

His visitor sneered. "I've always suspected that all those bludgers to the head must've affected your hearing, Potter. I didn't realize they've affected your brain as well."

"Daphne," Tracey warned, before turning back to their host. "I'm sorry about this. She's not usually this bad tempered. She's just. . ."

". . . tired of dealing with people pretending to be idiots when they're so obviously not," Daphne finished sardonically.

Harry fought to keep his temper under control. "What the bloody hell makes you think I'd be willing to help _you_?" he asked icily.

"Because Blaise said you would," she shot back. "It wasn't _my_ idea to come here, Potter!"

Harry directed his glare towards his new friend, who had the grace to look ashamed. "I only told her to come here and present her case to you as best as she could," he said hurriedly. "I never promised anything."

"But why me!?"

"Because you're the only one in this castle who can stand up that ponce Malfoy," Tracey replied succinctly.

Harry sighed. "I still don't see what I could do to help you guys."

"We just need your help to convince Malfoy to back off," Tracey said quickly. "If you'd just lean on him a little. . ."

"You want me to convince Draco Malfoy to convince his dad to change his mind?" Harry said incredulously. "Just who the hell do you think I am?"

"We think you're the Boy-Who-Lived. And we think you're someone Lucius would be hesitant to cross. I mean, you've dealt with him before, haven't you?"

"Once," Harry muttered, vividly recalling the last time when he and Lucius had faced off against each other in the castle. It had not ended well.

"Still," Harry shook his head. "This is all a business matter between your families. How could I possibly interfere?"

"Figures," Daphne scowled. "C'mon Trace. We're wasting our time!"

Harry carefully studied the girl sitting across from him. He had to admit, he'd been rather surprised to hear that Daphne Greengrass, Slytherin's resident Ice Queen, had requested a meeting with him to ask for a favor.

Her request had also been an intriguing one: the Greengrass family was one of the biggest importers on Magical Plants in Britain, a business that had garnered them immense amount of prestige and gold over the centuries.

But fortune had not been kind to the Greengrasses. Steadily mounting losses had forced them to bring outside investors into what was until then a family-owned business. Unfortunately, one among those investors was Lucius Malfoy.

While the Greengrass family as a whole had no love for muggleborns, they did not share the Dark Lord's extreme philosophy either. Daphne's father, Lord Daniel Greengrass, had never particularly trusted Lucius Malfoy, and had been anxious to buy back the Malfoy patriarch's stake in his family business.

To that end, he had procured a large shipment of extremely valuable plants, some so rare that they weren't even found in the Hogwarts greenhouses. But what could have turned out to be a very profitable deal went up in smoke (quite literally) when a major fire broke out in one of their biggest greenhouses.

To say this was catastrophic for the Greengrass family was an understatement. Daniel Greengrass found himself hounded on all sides by debtors until Lucius came to the "rescue". He offered to help the Greengrass patriarch with his monetary problems. His price: a controlling interest in the Greengrass plantations, and a marriage contract between the eldest children of both families when they came of age.

Naturally, Daphne was less than thrilled by the whole arrangement. When asked for her opinion, she had haughtily proclaimed that she'd much rather marry one of Hagrid's Blast-Ended Skrewts than let Draco Malfoy get within five feet of her.

But all that was merely hot air, and even Draco knew it. Refusing to honor the contract would mean that the burden of fulfilling it would fall on her sister Astoria's shoulders.

"My sister's a complete airhead," Daphne had explained. "She adores Draco, has had a crush on him since we were children. She's jump at the chance to marry that arse without even thinking about what it could mean for her." Her eyes had lit up with a cold fury. "I'll die before I let that happen!"

Or kill Draco, if the fire in her eyes was anything to go by.

It had been Blaise, a long-time friend of hers who'd convinced her to bring her case before Harry. Though unwilling at first, Daphne had conceded for the sake of her sister.

And so it was that the unlikely group found themselves sitting in an abandoned classroom.

"Potter, please," Tracey pleaded, restraining Daphne with one hand. "I know you don't exactly think the world of us Slytherins, but this is a _child_ we're talking about! Astoria's innocent!"

"Not to mention it's a chance to piss off Malfoy," Blaise said carefully. "I figured you might not want to pass up on that."

Harry remained silent. Certainly he had no great love for the Slytherins, but Greengrass and Davis had never been one of his antagonists. They had always treated him with the coldness that accompanied most Slytherin-Gryffindor interactions, but never outright hostility. And if he had to be honest, even that coldness had existed mostly in part due to biased gits like Snape doing whatever they pleased. Ever since Aurora Sinistra had taken over as Slytherin's Head of House, tension between the House of Snakes and the rest of the school had reduced considerably.

Still, that didn't mean that he was under any obligation to stick his neck out for people he didn't even know. While the prospect of doing Malfoy a bad turn appealed to him, he didn't really care enough to throw a spanner into the works of what was obviously a business matter between two world-weary adults.

Then why the bloody hell did it bother him so much!?

He closed his eyes and opened them again, gazing into the faces turned towards him. Daphne, looking defiant, with a shadow of resignation towards her fate cast across her face; Tracey, looking hopeful, beseeching him to help them; Blaise, his face impassive, but his eyes betraying his anxiety and concern for his friends.

He could not say no to them. He could not say no those who had come to him with such hope in their eyes.

But why not?

Almost automatically, his eyes went to Luna, who was observing him with a neutral expression on her face. There was no sign of the usual dreaminess in her storm-grey eyes. They were focused, intense. . . the same look she'd had that day, in that empty classroom.

His mind went back to the conversation they'd had that day, specifically to the question she'd asked him: Would he blindly walk the path Fate had chosen for him, or would he create his own?

The answer was simple. What was not was the _why_.

 _Why_ was he making this choice?

Harry was not a naive fool like his peers in Gryffindor. His experiences with the Dursleys had long since taught him that there really was no justice in the world. Bad things happened to good people more often than they should. It was just the way the world worked. His parents' graves were proof of that.

But he could change it.

Harry narrowed his eyes. It was amazing how clearly he could think now, how precise his thoughts were. He'd never truly used his intelligence the way he was using it now.

Out there, in the muggle world, he was just Harry. A nobody who couldn't even help himself, let alone help others.

But here, he was the Boy-Who-Lived. A title bought with the blood of his parents, a title he despised, a title he would have given everything to cast away gave him the power to actually _do_ something about the injustice he could see.

His fame was not a curse. Far from it. It was a weapon he could wield to do the right thing.

Here, he was not "Just Harry". He had _never_ been "just Harry".

But now he had the option to be so much more.

"This is a waste of time," Daphne jumped to her feet. "Tracey, let's just. . ."

"I'll do it."

The Greengrass heiress stopped in her tracks. "What?"

Harry exhaled softly before turning to look her straight in the eye. His emerald orbs blazed with such fierce determination that they almost seemed to glow. "I'll help you. I'll get Malfoy to annul the contract."

Daphne felt her throat go tight. "But. . . how?"

"That's no concern of yours." He got to his feet, and such was the strength of his conviction that the short boy actually seemed to tower above them all. "It's late. Go back to your dorms. Lucius Malfoy will withdraw his contract and reconsider his demand for your family business. You have my word."

Harry waited until the two girls had left the tower before walking over to stare out the window. The moon peeked out from behind the clouds, bathing him in pale blue light.

"Blaise."

"Don Harry?" the boy straightened.

"Set up a meeting with Draco for me."

* * *

 **AN: So yeah, this story's going to move at a faster pace than Renegade. The reason being that I plan to focus equally on both plot and character development this time.  
**

 **Thanks a lot to everyone who took the time to review this story. It's great to see some old friends like Alix33 again. :)**

 **For those who're curious, unlike Renegade, this story will be linear.  
**


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